


a sorcerer's safety, a scientist's sacrifice

by fadinglove



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadinglove/pseuds/fadinglove
Summary: Tony Stark finds solace in dizzying mathematical equations, numbers and variables and solid, simple solutions. But he's already begun delving more into the unknown: a place where anything and nothing can happen, a place of unpredictable, unexpected results.More complicated, in theory, maybe even for him.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to explore this ship and have now taken a great liking to it :)  
> (originally published 11/10/16)

"I don't believe in magic." Tony Stark sits across from his favorite mahagony desk, engraved and swirled with beautiful artwork depicting pictures of gory battle and glorious victory. His legs are crossed, and he's examining flawless cuticles. There's an air of arrogance about him, but it feels almost controlled. He sets his fingers down on the arm of the chair and glances up with those dark eyes to look him dead in the eye, and that's when Stephen Strange knows he's in love.

It's an infinite, strange feeling, to know you're in love. It's weirder than traveling through a space-time continuum, having all the space sucked out of your body and lungs compressed to flattened slabs of organ, flying by combusting stars and branching multiverses in unintelligible blurs. It's weirder than conjuring sparking weapons out of thin air from meager fingers, creating intricate shields of magic and warding off energy currents. It's weirder than-

"You work alongside a super-soldier, an Asgardian god, a gamma-radiating beast, the Black Widow," Stephen leans forward intently, a thread of inky black hair falling into his eye. "You've fought living mechanical creatures that portaled to New York, led by said Asgardian god's brother, who can teleport and change his appearance at will. And you don't believe in magic?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"It's the damn truth, it's not how I'm putting it." The Sorcerer Supreme tightens his cape around himself, bleeding rubies.

"It's just, it's all, science. It's science. Steve's cells were genetically enhanced, Thor and Loki are from a technologically and evolutionally advanced world, the Hulk is what you said- gamma radiation- and Widow is, well... she's the Widow."

It's night outside and there are no stars. There are never any stars over New York City. For all the witchcraft and specialized abilities superheroes have, even they can't quite stick the stars in the sky when there aren't any. They aren't really... gods.

"Well," Stephen breathes, chin in the palm of his hand, "What if I showed you?"

"Showed me? I've seen your 'magic,' Strange. We've fought together, occasionally." Tony grins. "You've been a little useful sometimes, I guess."

"You mean the occasional times where I've saved your life and your team's dignity?"

"Gosh, would you look at the time," Tony glances down and pushes his sleeve up to reveal an imaginary watch. Stephen thinks of his rotating collection, expensive clean-cut circles and silver bands of simple worth. "Well, I'd better be on my way. I am a busy man, you know."

"As am I," Stephen replies, and gets up. "Think about my offer, though. I can delve into your... inner spirit." He emphasizes the last part mysteriously.

The other man laughs at that, and then develops a thoughtful expression. "I might take you up on it."

Stephen loves his laugh. It's clear, high, and liberating, as if every problem of the day were poured into it and released. It reminds him of tinkling wind chymes, though maybe not as light, and other gushy, sappy romantically descriptive things. It's sickening, but...

"I hope I don't see you for the next six months, minimum," he calls from the door as Tony leaves, "Go be the busiest man you can be."

"Quiet, I'll come visit everyday."

Strange smiles.


	2. two

He doesn't come visit everyday, but he comes once a week for "mission consulting and checkups." Stephen's not sure where they both manage the time for these long chats (mostly flirtatious banter) but it just sort of... happens. Not that he's objecting, of course.

He's in his uniform (fighting gear, cloak, and all) every time they meet, and Tony's in his regular attire of a designer three-piece suit. But it would be unwise to overlook the fact that he most likely has his suit on hand, too, just somewhere hidden.

Stark splays his fingers out onto his tablet in a swift motion, and holograms bleed out into the air around them, digits shifting, numbers moving, figures dropping. There are live three-dimensional models of diagrams, and Stephen entertains himself by poking them.

"Having fun?" Tony has a wafer-thin stylus in hand, hovering over a digital notepad. "Any mission reports for this week?"

So Stephen tells him all the boring, fighting shit he's had to deal with, including some pesky dimension-hopping bugs and the like. No news of Dormammu, fortunately. He pulls the cape tighter. "Can't you just send someone else to take the reports? You're so important, Mr. Stark. Surely you're missed every second of the day."

Tony looks up through his lashes. "Now, where's the fun in that? It's like confining your worst enemy in chains and then sending someone else to torture them."

"Wow, why don't you tell me how you really feel."

"I just did. Now, that can't be all?"

"Yes, it was. But our time together was so awfully short; why, you should just stay even longer to bother me more."

"Best idea I've heard from you in a long time, Strange."

"What was the last one?"

"Requesting mission reports."

"You're stalling." Stephen leans back carefully in his chair. "Are you ready to take me up on my offer?"

Surprisingly, there are no snarky remarks that erupt from the other man as counterattack. Dr. Strange bites back a (rather hilarious) comment of his own on this matter, and instead looks up to find Tony looking serious, eyes dark and contemplative. It's alarming. His face softens. "You don't have to, you know. It's not a big deal."

"I do want to see, but, well..." He's afraid of this new ground. Having his entire perspective on life shifted, manipulated, categorized.

"I just wanted," the Sorcerer Supreme says, "to make your thick head understand my superior profession."

"Superior?" Stark demands, rising. "Hit me. I'm ready."

A little bit of competition never hurts anybody. Slowly but surely, Stephen stands as well and sweeps across in a few great strides, stopping right before the billionaire. He raises his trembling hands to the man's temples. "Positive?"

"Are you... nervous?" Tony frowns, eyeing his shaking fingers. "What..."

Stephen steps back. " _Nervous?_  Haven't you read my files? Studied the grueling and difficult long journey through which the famously admired Sorcerer Supreme rose to success?"

"I've never read your file. It seemed... an invasion of privacy."

"You and privacy? Hmph," he teases, before growing more serious. "I was a neurosurgeon, Stark. The best."

"But?"

"But I was stupid," he breathes, "and arrogant."

"You still are." An insufferable smirk.

"Now, for the last time," Stephen sighs, and lifts his arms. Tony can see the stormy gray of his eyes, the stripes of white along the sides of his jet black hair, a few strands falling away. His cloak bleeds around the nape of his neck into a high collar, intertwined with mystic gold thread. It strikes him as something _different._ Something old but fresh and intimidating but familiar. The doctor clutches at it.

"You pull on your cape when you're unsure," Tony says absentmindedly, and he disappears into fragmented light, vibrating sound, and things that are millennia old and unrecognizably new.


	3. three

"Sorcerer Supreme!" yells a mechanized but familiar voice, and streamlined armor touches down next to him, light-footed but packing a hundred and one punches. Stephen would be wholly occupied with this appearance if he weren't on the verge of passing out. There are gashes opening in his skin and the enemies pour in infinitely. "I'm here to save the day."

He only grits out, "No," from between his teeth before narrowly dodging a burst of fire to throw something back. The deep cut in his left shoulder is starting to make his entire body feel like raw, scrubbed meat that's strung out from harsh touch.

"You're hurt," Iron Man reaches out towards him, sounding concerned. "Stand down, I'll-"

"I'm fine," Sorcerer persists, and hurls a transparent knife. The _things_ descending on them seem to be fluid, lacking shape, just melting into each other or the shadows. When Stephen kills one, he can feel the entire group weaken, but only momentarily- for they are strengthened immediately. Rapid recovery, maybe. Or an endlessly regenerating system.

"Bullshit. How do I help?" The crimson-gold figure hovers a few feet up and rapidly fires some repulsor shots into the mass of black. The things dissolve at touch. Stark's shoulder plates begin to open as missiles are positioned above his stance, preparing to target and engage.

"By leaving. I'm handling this," Strange says. Right before he's slammed down into the ground so hard he sees stars.

 _"Stephen!"_ Then cut to black.

* * *

He comes to painfully slowly, like floating up to the surface of ocean water, miles and miles of traveling until his face hits open air. Rapidly, he blinks and instinctually begins to sit up as all superheroes unwisely do upon regaining consciousness after a bad beatdown.

His head aches.

Stephen has a stitch in his side, the shoulder still hurts like hell, and a headache threatens to split his damn skull open. Through the pounding haze of it he surveys his surroundings and observes a dark alleyway. Fire escape stairwells run down the brick walls above, and it seems deserted. It's still nighttime, and in the distance, he can hear faint fighting sounds if he strains.

Then something lands with a heavy, resounding thump behind him.

The Sorcerer Supreme cries out in surprise, which increases the aggravation in his head. He presses a hand to his temples and whirls, but it's just Tony Stark stepping out of the Iron Man suit. "Shit, I'm sorry, I was just-"

He's holding a pack of ice in each hand. The situation is so absurd Stephen could almost laugh.

"You were totally out, so I flew you here, and now the Avengers are taking care of it," Tony offers as explanation.

"I am Doctor Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, and you bring ice to heal me."

"That was a hard hit," Stark only says before stepping way too close, gently grabbing the back of his neck, and physically pressing the meager bag to his head. They're so close, they could kiss... again.

Stephen has an urge to break free, but the cold is so soothing and the fingers on his nape are so warm. He breathes slowly, eyes fluttering shut. There's no need for them to be quiet, but it just feels right. Tony whispers, "I'm sorry about our last... meeting. I didn't- I didn't mean it. You know how I am."

Strange opens his eyes, and it's just gray against startling blue. "It's alright."

Then Iron Man takes the ice down and their faces are slowly tilting forward to meet, hearts beating faster and hands gripping more skin and less air between them and-

 _"Iron Man! The threat is secured. Report back to us immediately,"_   comm blasts, and the two jump apart. There's a few seconds of silence before Tony replies shakily, _"On my way, Cap."_

"Go. Your team needs you," comes the soft reply.

"No way. I'm not leaving like this."

"Like what?"

"I need to, like, I need to promise you, or make it up to you, or something. We're not good until that happens. I can take you on a date.  I'm great at dates. How about that?"

Doctor Strange can't help but smile. "A date it is."

"Great. Call- no, I'll call you. Don't die, or anything, in the next week." And Tony cups his face slowly, gently, just once, and it's like a goodbye kiss but more intimate.

"I'll try my best." He takes the ice. The armor bleeds around Stark again, like a second skin, and he erupts into the sky, flaring jets melting into the starry sky.

Stephen thinks of the touch on his cheek all night.

 


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating in forever guys! i decided to add one more chapter after this (which i promise will be the final one). i just wanted to update this so here is a mini chapter

"It's not your real date. I swear. The real date will come later. Think of this as...a pre-date. A preparatory date."

"You want me to think of a classified undercover mission to infiltrate a technologically advanced and magic-wielding drug operation, as a date? And not even a real one at that? A _pre-date?"_

"I- well- just- fine." Tony's annoyed huff from the other end. "But, just, are you coming?"

"Am I coming? Do you realize this is our job? To protect the world?"

"Eight o' clock sharp. Wear something nice. Well, of course, it doesn't have to be nice, but, you know, it would look less conspicuous if we blended in with the crowd, and whatnot." Silence. "And I wouldn't mind, per say, looking at you if you were to... dress nice."

Strange hangs up, smiling.

* * *

He arrives, at night, to the opera house after portaling to Paris. Taking Tony's "advice," he's dressed in a clean cut suit of black and white, creamy ruffles flowing from the chest and sleeves for a polished look. Inside, Stephen slips off his dark, swooping trench coat and observes.

It's bustling with finely dressed men, slender women in draping folds of dresses, flashing jewelry and elegant grins of wealthy socialites. Three stairways converge into one section, smooth expanses of ivory floor, ringed with golden staircases that slide down. Candelabras with gentle flames illuminate the entire entrance. He considers waiting for the other man, but decides against it.

The actual opera stage is even more beautiful. He's seen a lot of beautiful things before- in other dimensions, other worlds, between lives. And yet sometimes human creations still surpass that.

Rows and rows of ruby theater seats span the walls and floor, intertwined with golden columns. The bronze reaches the decor on the ceiling, a circle of vivid hues circling in to a large chandelier. Crimson curtains drape over the stage and yellow twining ropes swing down from the sheets of red.

He finds his seat with ease. He fiddles with his cuff-links and then looks up to find Tony.

The billionaire's eyes roam hungrily over him. "You look ravishing."

"You look... the same, as always." It's true. Secretly Stephen is always appreciative of the lean body beneath the designer suits.

They just gaze at each other, falling in love all over again, when the left wall erupts and the opera house is compromised.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks

"Duck!" Doctor Strange yells, and thankfully Tony intercepts this as a wise idea, hurling the suit over himself. Stephen only throws the cloak around his shoulders over the suit, and the two soon rise up above the crowd in a ready battle stance.

The billionaire can hear the audience below; some scream hysterically, some gawk and gasp at the superheroes in their midst. He doesn't really care either way because supernatural creatures are descending on them by the minute.

The opera house is already beginning to be evacuated, but many people refuse to budge. Tony grits his teeth in frustration, and tries his best to watch civilians from the corner of his eye while assessing the enemy. He takes one look and- "These are the same things that attacked-"

"Last time," Strange finishes, and magic is already crackling in between his fingertips. "They're fucking creepy."

"Agreed," Iron Man replies through the helmet, and they dive in to break apart every shadow.

_When Stephen presses his fingers to his head, Tony expects a blur of impossible things, but that's not what happens at first. Instead, it's calmly quiet, and he sits in a clean room atop soft blankets. Someone is gently caressing him, and when he turns it's his mother, young and radiant and beautiful._

_There is no way he could still remember this, as a newborn, when his family was something unrecognizable._

_"Anthony," she breathes, "Go to sleep."_

_When he turns his head he sees his father, too, and there are no harsh lines to him. Howard cradles his head in an affectionate way he has never seen before. "Tony...my heir to the Stark throne."_

_Maria swats at her husband, but with no real malice, and Tony can just lay there as a baby, drowning in this paradise of a happy family, sinking into the bed, clearing his head, slowing his breathing..._

Iron Man breaks off a wave of creatures with his arc reactor blast. "There are so many, and I'm not sure if this is effective, Doc. I'm definitely hitting them, but I can't tell if I'm destroying or they're reforming or... what."

"Agreed," Stephen releases a wave of energy and his eyes flash emerald for a split second before subsiding to normal. His cape billows behind him as he summons more and more power, the eye of Agamotto dangling at his neck, and Tony thinks it's beautiful. "Yet I've no idea on how to beat these things. I haven't done any research, I've been a bit... preoccupied."

Tony grins, blasting a few more while breaking free into the air. His armor shines against the gleaming ceiling of the Palais as he hovers in the air. "They're... fluid. No definite shape- like shadow, or technically water. I feel like if it touched me, I'd fade away, or something. Lose myself. Damn, that was poetic. Why aren't I a poet?"

"You lack the elegance."

"Ouch."

"And you can't fight a shadow with... solid. We'll risk dissolving ourselves. Disintegrating a city. But fighting fire with fire..."

 _"Précisément,"_ he concludes, "We'll just have to think like shadows."

_The childhood memory is whisked away, so all he feels is a blank, empty, dark space so desolate and deep it brings tears. What are tears? Where are his eyes, his lashes, his nose, his lips, his body? They are one and nothing with everything._

The Sorcerer Supreme melts into the walls as Tony steps out of his suit. He can make himself disappear, if only for moments at a time.

"Are you coming?" Strange echoes from where he's standing, now only a smoky figure of elusive stars.

And Tony doesn't hesitate.

_A pop. A bang. Tony is travelling through the world and through history. He sees New York City as it was millions of years ago, when it had no people and no pollution and no name. Fields for miles._

_He finds himself in stretching lavender fields as far as the eye can see, flowers tickling his ankles, breathing in the old Earth._

_Then he embodies every blade of grass, every whisp of a cloud in the sky. There is nothing he cannot sway open. It liberates and traps him all at once._

_Then Tony finds himself in the midst of a dirty crowd of people, in a European country, pleading for his life. The scenes and stolen memories and words come and go, come and go, leaving as swiftly as they come._

_He stands in the midst of outer space as Earth begins to collapse and reform, the sun expanding exponentially._

_He is a droplet of water streaming down a lake._

_He is a towering skyscraper in the midst of San Diego, overlooking every building._

_He spins through paralell universes, other multiverses. Tony can hear and feel every resounding image through every infinite world, but it is not overwhelming. It's rather muted._ _He feels a wrench of suffocating pain as his parents are gunned down right in front of him. He feels a nauseating clench in his bones as an emerald metal shines nearby. He awakes out of frozen ice to find a brand new Earth built._

_He is a meterorite hurling through between planets, tail blazing out behind him. He is a woman in the Victorian age, corset tight and posture straight._

_And he comes to from anesthesia to find his hands are raw and immobile, iron staples clamping every bone and tendon together._

They fight with grace and secrets, disappearing and appearing in split seconds. No creature can match it.

_He can feel the Earth spinning on its axis. It's pulled around the sun, small and blue. The moon follows like a craterous pet._

_Space is silent and mercilessly unforgiving. Everything is deathly quiet, and not even the asteroids that whiz by make sound. Stars are being birthed in the distance, exploding in color around nebulas, while some die as supernova settling down into a white dwarf. It's beautiful._

_And finally, he is a sturdy wolf lying down in mountainous region underneath a quiet, stormy sky. The morning air is crisp and chilly, dew dripping off tree branches, and the only sound to be heard is of a few birds chirping._

_He looks up at the thunderous gray._

When the battle is over, SHEILD experts, detectives, and medics rush in to clean up. Stephen only conjures a portal and reaches a hand out to Tony, once again. "Will you test the waters with me? Do you want to try"- he gestures between them- "what we have?"

 _He looks up at the gray sky,_ and he looks up at those gray eyes.

Right now, he could decline, lose a partner just as a lover, and go back to his exciting routine with the occasional world-threatening crisis. No magic, no rocky relationships.

But what a shitty choice it is.

"Of course," Tony says, and when he steps through the portal, they are lost somewhere beyond the confines of space and time, but all he can feel is the taste of Stephen's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read and commented. i truly appreciate it, and i'm sorry this took so damn long due to my procrastination.


End file.
